Wash, rinse, repeat, repeat. . .

Time’s no circle 

But it rhymes.

I bet my last minutes

And a dime.

There is no limit

To how long we die

And no faith in it

To ask how or why.

Birth is to begin

A drawn out end

And no validation

To the pain of elimination.

I can’t get there fast enough

When the rivers run dry

And the road is rough.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under poem, poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s